Tumble Through Time
by Flashback 1701
Summary: It's the 21st century, and a nasty fall has Ludwig convinced that he's on the verge of World War II. His familiar and devestating mindset has those around him in a state of panic and threatens to ruin the reputation he's worked so hard to save.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Holy crap, it's another multichapter! Don't expect anything super grand, though. It'll probably be less than ten chapters in all. This story was inspired by the scene from Toy Story III when Buzz is "reset" and morphs back into his "Space Ranger" mode. It should be noted that I started working on this while I was still writing Guardian, but the falling down the stairs was actually a seperate thought - Tumble Through Time is the story mentioned in the Bonus Chapter. This would be the third story I've written that involves an unfortunate meeting between Ludwig and a staircase, but one of those stories was written for a Prussia RP diary that I put together as a cosplay prop. Apparently, stairs and Germans do not mix. Now, without further ado... the story!

Summary:

It all began with a fateful tumble (mostly at the fault of his elder brother) that sent Ludwig slipping back in time to an era of mounting tension and strict militancy.

Contains some GerIta.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

"Gilbert!" The call echoed suddenly through the house, ringing with thinly veiled annoyance. "Gilbert, where is my brief? The meeting is in less than an hour and I was supposed to be on the train thirteen minutes ago!"

From his position on the couch, the albino rolled his eyes, absently flipping through the painfully long-winded document. "I dunno. Is it the fifty page bore-fest on some EU shit?"

"Goddamn it, Gilbert!" Heavy footsteps overhead accompanied the roar of fury.

The elder chuckled, tossing the thick sheaf onto the coffee table. Up above, his brother's pace quickened. At any second, Ludwig would be flying down the stairs to reclaim his brief and possibly throttle the basement-dwelling freeloader to death. Then, the young German's progress ground to a mysterious halt. Gilbert was just able to hear a garbled cry of, "Berlitz!" before the heart –stopping noise of a body thudding down a flight of stairs reached his pale ears.

_West._

"West!" He launched himself from the couch in a heartbeat, racing to the bottom of the staircase. "Holy shit, are you okay?"

The answer became apparent when his brother came into view sprawled awkwardly across the floor. His forehead was split and dripping onto the one-spotless cement, and his eyes were rolled up in his head. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Berlitz wagged sheepishly.

"Shit… _shit!_" Gilbert slapped the blond across the face, watching as his head lolled weakly to the side. "C'mon, West, talk to me!"

Pale lashes fluttered. "_Bruder?_"

"Ah, Jesus Christ! You're alive!"

"Get off of me." Ludwig frowned sharply, shrugging away his brother's overly relieved embrace. Clutching his still-bleeding brow, he blinked at the other male. "What the hell are you wearing?"

For a moment, the albino wondered if he'd rolled out of bed without his pajamas again. A quick downward glance told him otherwise.

"Uh, jeans? Stuff, y'know?" He raised an eyebrow to his brother's inquiry. "What the hell'd you think I've be wearing? I'm not going anywhere."

"We have a meeting in…" The young German consulted his watch, a hand-wound relic from the earlier half of the twentieth century. "Ach! Forty-five minutes!"

He fairly leapt to his feet, nearly stumbling into a wall as he did. Gilbert caught him deftly.

"The hell is this 'we' stuff? I haven't gone to a meeting in ages."

"But…" Stony blue eyes flickered in confusion. "You said you would continue to aid me in the war effort, I mean, despite your recent abolition…"

A sour flavor flooded the ex-nation's senses. "War effort?"

"_Ja, natürlich."_

"West," Gilbert rested a steady hand on his brother's broad shoulder. "We haven't been at war since 1945."

* * *

><p>Ludwig had allowed his brother to drive on this rare occasion, partially due to his possible concussion as a result of having tripped over the dog and falling head first down the stairs. Well, that and the fact that the vehicle (so misleadingly marked with the familiar "VW") was almost completely alien to him. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – Gilbert seemed quite familiar with the magnificent glowing dials and flashing displays.<p>

Apparently he had been thrown forward in time by a span of approximately seventy-two years. His people were not (according to his rather recently disbanded and very possibly mentally unstable brother) led by Adolf Hitler, nor were they seeking German expansion or revenge on Europe. In fact, it seemed as though the continent was in a state of relative pace. He grunted. The world was never at peace, and so long as humans reigned supreme, war would always be looming on the horizon.

* * *

><p>If asked, Gilbert would reason that he was a tough, courageous guy who wasn't all too frightened of anything. His little brother's current behavior, however, was scaring him shitless. The whole seven minutes it had taken to get the blond into the car (something with which he'd been entirely mesmerized), he'd been praying that he wouldn't try to <em>sieg heil<em> the neighbor. This was another reason they were driving to Italy rather than travelling publicly: Ludwig had spent the better part of the last seventy-some years trying to escape the demons of the past, and this recent development was a surefire way to undo all of it.

The older male could sense the rage boiling over in the other's hard, glacial stare. He hadn't seen so much bitter loathing in those familiar eyes for a long time, and he wished not to see it now. A chill crept down his spine.

"Eh, so…" he coughed nervously in an attempt to draw the younger nation's attention away from whatever dangerous, angry thoughts he might have been having. "The meeting's at Feli's place?"

"Yes."

"Then do me a favor, 'kay?" Gilbert leaned into a turn as he took a corner a tad too quickly. "Don't talk about the war with him."

"Why not?" The confusion was obvious in his voice and he raised a brow to his brother. "We're allies."

He shook his head wearily. "You _were_ allies, West. Now you're just…"

Words failed and he left Ludwig to wonder exactly what he and the Italian were to each other. Gilbert was afraid to say "in love".

* * *

><p>Note: In case math failed you as you read this, Ludwig was "pulled" from the year 1939... preferably the early summer. Germany has made the Pact of Steel with Italy, but has not yet invaded Poland.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Don't tell me that my math was wrong with the travel distance between Rome and Berlin, I know... and I really couldn't care less.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

Feliciano wondered were Ludwig was – he was rarely late, and certainly never by so much as four hours. Besides, he'd promised to come early today so they could plan their next dinner date. The Italian smiled at the thought (and the mental image of Ludwig's pale cheeks flushing a bashful shade of red). He knew that his (boy)friend loved his food and house as the blond loved him. Now Feliciano was thinking that a picnic on the beach would be terribly romantic.

From across the table, Arthur Kirkland coughed impatiently. The other EU members had left some time before, leaving behind only Italy, France, and the United Kingdom. Now, the thick-browed nation was glaring irritably down his nose at the two other Europeans.

"If Germany's not here to deliver his presentation, perhaps it would be best for us to leave."

The host country glanced up from his "notes" (where he was busily doodling Ludwig posing shirtless), then sighed. "Oh, yeah. I guess you're right…"

"We're here!" A familiar, raucous voice shattered the relative quiet, drawing the attentions of the three remaining EU members to the double doors which had been unceremoniously kicked open to reveal a panting, sweating Prussian and a harried-looking German. "Sorry we're late."

"Germany!" Feliciano launched himself from his chair and fairly knocked the taller nation on his ass. "I know you'd come!"

"Italy, are you alright?" he asked sharply, flinty eyes darting about the room, lingering on Francis and Arthur. "They're not hurting you, are they?"

The brunet hesitated. "N-no… why would they be hurting me?"

His partner blinked in surprise. "Because-"

"He's drunk." Gilbert cut in suddenly, shoving his brother away from the Italian nation. "Completely wasted. Sorry 'bout that. He's totally screwed up in the hea- West, what the hell are you doing?"

Ludwig ignored the question, opting instead to fix Francis (who had been hauled up by the open lapels of his dress shirt) with a deadly glower. "You."

Feliciano felt his stomach drop to his feet; he knew that look, that tone. The pure hatred in the other's gaze didn't suit him – it aged him, giving him the appearance of a bloodthirsty nation far older than he. The Italian shivered, shrinking back with tears in his eyes.

Arthur was on his feet in a moment, casting an irritable glance in the direction of the Germanic brothers. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

The ex-nation faltered, desperately clawing for the right words. Unfortunately, they escaped and were replaced with the eloquent response: "West hit his head and now he thinks he's a Nazi."

"A Nazi?" The nation's colossal brows met to form a fuzzy V. "What sort of rubbish is this?"

Feliciano, to his credit, was at least partially composed as he replied. "I-it's true… G-Germany is… he's…"

"H-help…" The red-faced Francis kicked slightly, his lotion-softened hands scrabbling with those of his captor. Ludwig didn't flinch.

"West, c'mon, put Francis down. We know he's a dick, but we've been sorta getting along lately."

He snorted. "With him? Never. It's his fault my children starved!"

"W-we made peace, _Allemagne_…" Face steadily turning blue, the blond managed a low gasp.

"I refuse to accept that!"

The spectators flinched as Francis's back was thrust against the conference room wall. Releasing his grip, Ludwig let the other slump to the floor before burying his foot in his ribs.

"Stop!" Of the three identical shouts, Feliciano's was the most urgent. He threw himself in front of the raging German, trembling with fear as the razor-sharp gaze raked over him.

"Italy, stand down!" His one-time commander barked, fist raised and brow furrowed. "This is _my_ fight!"

"No, it's not! It's nobody's fight!" Tears slid freely from eyes screwed shut against reality. "The wars are over, we're all friends now. Please Germany, stop it!"

He wanted to scream that he was scared, that he hated seeing his partner acting like this. He wanted to pinch himself and wake up cuddling into the blond's side.

Instead, Ludwig's lip curled in distaste. "You've always been a gutless coward. Sometimes I wonder why I ever became your ally."

Feliciano fought for air, stumbling as though he'd been shot. His Germany would never say those things – his Germany loved him.

"N-no…"

"West!" Gilbert had reentered the fray. He looked every bit as peeved as his brother, all teasing gone from his stern expression and his tone was that of a commanding officer. The Italian recalled vaguely how haughty and impressive the kingdom had once been, all polished boots and spotless uniforms. Now that same mindset had fallen neatly back into place.

"You're a fucking disgrace, you know that?" the albino was saying, drawing himself up to address his taller sibling. "The war you're talking about's been over for sixty-six goddamn years and you've been trying to live it down ever since! Look, you boss was sick, your government party was sick, and your kids got hauled out to fucking death camps in railway cars like cattle! Now if you don't stand down this goddamn instant, I'm gonna set my pistol to your head and pull that fucking trigger until you're confusion's cleared up. Do you understand?"

The conference room rang with an impressed silence as the once-great military power panted for breath. Eventually, a dumbfounded Ludwig regained his speech.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered, face spasming as he met his brother's blazing eyes.

"Look, West, do you or do you not understand?" His reply was cool as he subtly positioned himself between his brother and Feliciano. "I just want you to sit your ass down in that chair right there and shut the hell up until we've got this situation under control. You get me?"

The blond looked away, knowing when he was beaten. "Understood."

* * *

><p>Ludwig sat stiffly in the chair, feet planted firmly on the ground and eyes straight ahead. He should have known better than to aggravate a Prussian (while, ex-Prussian now) officer – his brother especially. However, something mentioned in Gilbert's outburst was haunting him… several somethings, actually.<p>

"A-hem." There was a gentle, (obviously) fake cough from behind him, alerting the German of Feliciano's presence. His ally wasn't meeting his eyes, rather he was carefully studying the blank wall of the meeting room. For a moment, he was distracted, murmuring to himself that a nice landscape would certainly lighten the pallid atmosphere of the conference hall. Dark amber eyes twitched back to catch sight of the seated nation, and he seemed to remember himself.

"Ehm… Hi, Germany."

"Italy."

His slender hands began to tremble and he stuffed them into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. Ludwig noted the definite change to the Italian's formal wear: the neat cut of the pale jacket, the snug fit of the almost form-fitting pants, the slim shape of the necktie. While it was true he looked as though he'd recently stepped from an unknown era (though, in reality, it was his currently unsettled counterpart who had stumbled forward through chaotic decades), it could not be denied that he looked very stylish. Suddenly, the comfortably-familiar brown suit the blond was wearing felt tacky and outdated. It was, after all, seventy-two years into the future. Had his future self not once paused to consider the necessity of treating himself to some new dress clothes?

"How're you feeling?" Feliciano motioned to the bandaged lump gracing the other nation's forehead. "Does it still hurt?"

Opting to answer the second question – the first was too difficult to fully explore at the moment – he grunted, "A bit."

Giggles colored with evident admiration bubbled from the brunet's lips. "Germany's always so cool!"

"Am I?"

A flicker of unease crossed his heart-shaped face. "Well, for things like this…"

"Italy, may I ask you something?" Frustration and curiosity pooled until the German was bursting at the seams with both. Hands knotting into fists, he steeled himself for the answer before he'd even opened his mouth to ask. "What happened? During the war, I mean, and everything else. Why won't anyone talk to me about it?"

"Because it was bad." Feliciano murmured lifelessly, gaze restlessly tracing an abstract pattern across the carpeting. "It was really, really bad and Germany did-"

He stopped abruptly, trapping his lower lip between his teeth.

"No, tell him, Italy." Arthur spoke up as the others reentered the meeting space looking grim. "Tell him what he did to his children and everyone else he bloody well wanted gone."

Ludwig's mouth tightened into a sharp line.

"You mean the camps." His response was a quiet statement rather than a tentative question. The other European fumed.

"Yes, the damned camps!" The Briton snapped, eyebrows united into a thunderous expression of rage that seemed to affect his ability to form coherent sentences. "It was bloody… bloody fucking awful."

Ludwig met his eyes unflinchingly. "Tell me."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Aaaangst...

Plus some broken GerIta - this pairing will be rather prevalent in the next few chapters to the end. (I love them~)

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

Ludwig hadn't spoken since Arthur and Francis had left, the air behind them filled with noxious clouds of painful history. For a long time, his brother and his best friend stared silently at him, not knowing what could be said to ease his discomfort. The three of them didn't move so much as a muscle until Feliciano finally spoke up.

"Does Germany want to come to my house for dinner?" he asked warily, as though expecting some explosively negative response. "You're both invited, really."

Gilbert shook his head. "Nah, you kids have fun. I've got to go talk to a few people, tie down some loose ends, y'know?"

"Oh, okay."

Rising to his feet, he patted his younger brother awkwardly on the back. "I'll catch you later, West."

Then it was just him and Feliciano, separated only by the broad span of the conference table. Well aware that he would be unable to speak for quite some time, Ludwig dropped his gaze to his own scarred knuckles. How had he missed the knotty, white flesh that curled across his thick digits like coils of barbed wire? Though he didn't have the resolve to look, he rationalized that there were similar marks on other parts of his body: the remnants of lost battles and dying citizens. Gripping tightly at the table before him, he fought back the urge to vomit. His boss, _Der Fuhrer_, had been a madman and he, _Das Vaterland, _had been unable to read the signs before it was too late.

"Well?"

"I apologize," he murmured, not lifting his eyes to the Italian. "What was the question again?"

"Dinner, Germany. Did you want to…?" Feliciano trailed off, then stood with a look of pure determination on his face. "You're coming to my house for dinner tonight, Germany. Get up and get your things."

Nodding, the blond found that he didn't have the will to argue.

* * *

><p>The sound of the front door being pulled open drew the cook's attention, the shuffle of footsteps holding it.<p>

"Veneziano? Grab the mail, would yo-?" Turning away from the dinner he was preparing, Lovino was confronted with the sight of a bashful-looking Feliciano and the ever-present German threat. He snorted, "You again, potato head? If you're gonna spend so much time with my brother, why not get your balls in order and just propose already?"

"Excuse me?" Half out of curiosity and half out of irritation masked with civility, Ludwig asked, shifting his stance to a defensive one.

The younger Italian broke in nervously, "Um, Germany's… Germany's not well today, _Fratello_."

"No?" Upon closer inspection, a hint of suppressed bloodlust could be detected his otherwise weary, cerulean gaze. There was something unyielding about his straight-backed posture that reminded one of a much more militant era. The brunet flinched back. "N-Nazi…"

"That's all he can remember." Feliciano murmured, speaking with a low, mournful tone that sent shivers down his brother's spine. "Germany thinks he's gone forward in time, but he really just hit his head and…"

Fists raised and face flushed, Lovino approached the blond. He sputtered, breathless with anger, until he managed to force out the words, "Get out of our house _now._"

"_Fratello, _please!"

"No!" He dragged the nation down to his eyelevel by the collar of his dress shirt. "Look at me, you bastard, and promise me to stay the fuck away from my brother! We suffered enough because of your stupid damn war, and we don't want any more part in this!"

Ludwig blinked slowly, trying to comprehend the rapid Italian. "A-any more part in what?"

"You!" The older brunet shoved him back with all his strength, then took up the wooden spoon he had been using previously to stir the sauce that now sat forgotten on the stove. "I swear, I'll kill you before I let you hurt my brother again!"

"Again?"

Feliciano froze. Rich, honey-colored eyes darted nervously between his lover and his brother as his words died on his tongue. "P-please…"

"Idiot! Do you really think he'll just forget all of this? He was crazy then, Veneziano, and he's crazy again now. Look at him, at his eyes. Do you really think that this is the look of a sane man?"

"But I… it's Germany…"

Backing carefully away from the Italians in the kitchen, Ludwig held up his hands in a show of surrender and peace. "I don't understand all of this, but if I'm making you uncomfortable, I can leave-"

"Don't!" The cry was desperate as the younger Vargas grabbed up the German's pale hand in his. "Please don't go, Germany, I want to help you."

"I'm leaving. This is disgusting." Making a nasty retching noise, Lovino whirled on his heel. At the door, he paused, then, addressing Feliciano, he added with his eyes glinting darkly, "Don't try to be forgiven by doing this, idiot. You left him before because it was the right choice."

Then the door slammed shut before either of the remaining two nations could string together the words of a response.

* * *

><p>The German would have been hard pressed to have not noticed the way his (former) ally's hands shook as he set the table, but Feliciano refused any of his offers to help. Guilt seemed to be written across his sickly pale face, but he had smiled nonetheless in an attempt to put his guest at ease.<p>

"I've got it, Germany. You just sit there and relax."

Even though he knew the Italian to be a kind and gracious host, the blond nation got the feeling that there was something more to Feliciano's strange behavior than he was fully grasping. Something that possibly had to do with the outcome of the war he didn't recall. Ludwig's lips tightened, and he curtly thanked the cheerful brunet for the steaming pasta that was set before him.

"We're friends, aren't we?" he whispered, slender fingers toying with a fork that would normally be twisting enthusiastically though the sauce-dampened noodles. Glancing up at the German across the table, Feliciano squirmed beneath his own shame. "I mean… do you remember our being friends?"

Ludwig frowned. "We, eh, we just signed an alliance together."

"The Pact of Steel." The name slipped from his lips in a single, painful exhale. The taller nation nodded.

"You were afraid I would forget our-"

"Our friendship."

A smile almost found its way to the German's face. "Yes."

"I… I really do care about you, Germany." He beamed in a manner he hoped was convincing enough. Then, prodding nervously at the food on his plate, he added, "In fact, I love you more than anyone else on the planet…"

"I care for you, also." Ludwig blushed, not meeting his friend's eyes. "But, Italy, I want you to tell me something."

"Of course, anything for Germany-"

"How were our relations affected by the war?"

Feliciano sucked in his breath harshly, finding himself met with the very question he had hoped his partner would never ask. Gaze weighted and falling to the side, he murmured, "You won't hate me, will you?"

"I'm not entirely certain that I could even if I tried." the blond replied quickly, not even pausing to think. There was another small grin tempting his stern mouth, one that lessened the chaotic look in his pale eyes. The Italian's heart sank even lower.

"I…" Tongue both fumbling to form the words and choking him, he struggled. "There was…"

"Italy?"

"M-my children were dying, and I-I was tired, and I…" Salty tear tracks traced their way down his cheeks as he shuddered. "I ab…"

"You abandoned me?" Ludwig guessed correctly, expression becoming closed and icy once more. Feliciano could only nod weakly, already prepared to flinch back in case of a blow.

It never came.

"Thank you for the meal, Italy." The German got to his feet, carefully taking the linen napkin from his lap and replacing it on the table. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he turned and left.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I've tried really hard for historical accuracy (because this sort of thing is important to me), but if I've made any glaring mistakes, pleasecorrect me, and do so without being obnoxious. Thank you.

In the meantime, some sad stuff, some confused Ludwig, and a lot of hinted modern day GerIta.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

Knowing that his brother had gone to Italy for dinner, Gilbert was surprised when he appeared at the door looking both furiously angry and exhausted.

"D'you take the train, West?" he asked, holding the door open as the taller nation strode stiffly inside. "Hell, if you woulda called me, I would've picked you up."

"I didn't want to ask to use Italy's phone."

"We have cell phones- never mind. How was dinner?"

Immediately Ludwig's gaze hardened, blocking behind it whatever emotion he might have been feeling. "Fine."

Gilbert flinched back, a frown playing on his lips. "He told you about the armistice then?"

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sniveling coward?" The blond's voice broke, and he swiftly snapped his mouth shut as though to hide the injury audible in his question. "Why did I ally myself with him because I already _knew_ that he was a sniveling coward?"

"Whoa, hold it." Holding up a pale hand, his older brother cut him off sharply. "Feli was your ally because, well, politically it was 'cuz you both had assholes for leaders, but also because he trusted you as a friend. He might be the most useless damn soldier the world's ever seen – okay, second behind Francis – but he's a good kid and he cares about you."

"Friends?" Ludwig snorted.

"_You _made the Pact of Steel with him."

"It was a tactical error."

"You know," a scowl etched into his features, the albino spat. "People say I'm an asshole, but right now you're being an absolute bastard. Really. If you think Feli was a coward, you should've seen his house after the war. Fuck, you should've seen _our_ house after the war. It was a mess!"

"You're awfully preachy today, _Bruder._"

"Yeah, well, you're awfully dick-ish today." With a sigh of resignation, he grumbled, "You wanna beer?"

"No, thank you." Ludwig shuffled past him to the stairs leading to the upper level. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

><p>His bedroom had changed slightly over the course of seventy-two years, which was understandable. The desk that had once housed a typewriter now held only a small, plastic rectangle that seemed as though it could be opened like a book. The old desk lamp had, similarly, been phased out in exchange for a smooth-looking silver item that may have been more at home in an alien spacecraft. Even his yellow, wooden pencils had found themselves replaced by sleek, black instruments that revealed a small stick of graphite at the push of a button.<p>

Ludwig sighed heavily, seating himself on the bed (that was a lot more comfortable that it had been when last he'd set upon it). Flopping back against his pillow, he found that there was a small book tucked inside the pillowcase, not that he was surprised. He had kept his journal in the exact location.

The front cover of the book bore only the word "Journal" on a simple, black background that suited the German quite well, and when he opened it, he found it full of simple lined pages.

"_Today Italy and I went to Venice where he took advantage of the canals to show off his skills as a gondolier. I must admit that it was strange to see him so efficiently maneuvering the boat through the water, but then again, I suppose his strengths lie mainly in this sort of romantic nonsense. In all honesty, it was actually rather-_" There were several words scribbled out here. "_nice of him to have taken me around his favorite city like this. I-_" More crossed out phrases. _"learned a lot about Italy that I didn't know before. Italy being the land rather than the nation himself. I already know quite a bit about him._"

Teeth working steadily at his fingernails, Ludwig pondered the entry. He loved to visit his friend's homeland, but never had he been taken out on the canals in such a way. He'd always assumed that mode of transportation was reserved for couples and lovers, not allies. A sick feeling blossomed in his stomach. He read on.

"_Today I took Blackie, Aster, and Berlitz out for a walk around town. I hadn't expected to find Italy playing in one of my parks with a group of children. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was practicing his German and that he was glad that the children could understand him, even if they were apparently laughing at his 'funny accent'. Somehow he roped me into playing as well, and the next thing I knew, I was involved in a game of freeze tag. It was-_" Was his future self a poor speller, or was he afraid of fully confiding himself in even this most private of personal writings? "_amusing to see Italy's expressions as he froze for the children. I am convinced he made those faces specifically for their entertainment. And maybe mine as well. When the children left for home, he helped me walk the dogs back to my house. He stayed for dinner._"

These writings and those that he read later all appeared to be a brief summary of a memory that was somehow much more complex than it initially seemed. A few pages from the front, Ludwig had mentioned a kiss, but had neglected to describe the location and nature of the gesture. Tucked somewhere in the middle, there was an encounter that could have been considered as cuddling between the two nations, but the manner in which it was described, it could have also just been the Italian's cowardice as they watched a horror film together. The most recent entry had spoken of a plan to spend the day together which could have just as easily been a date.

Replacing the book in his pillowcase, he encountered a wave of uncertainty. What _were_ his relations with the cheerful, brunet nation? Even in his time, an era of mounting tension and militant preparation, Feliciano had been a welcoming, pleasant person. He had understood Ludwig's strange outlook and had agreed to join him in an alliance. He had become Ludwig's first friend.

But was there more?

Unsettled, the German stood and made for the door.

* * *

><p>Gilbert was still in the kitchen when Ludwig entered, eyeing the albino warily. Barely looking up from his beer, the older of the two nodded to acknowledge his brother.<p>

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No."

"Tough." He took a long pull of the amber liquid in his bottle before continuing. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

The icebox had been replaced with a stainless steel monster with twin doors that sat side by side. Curiously opening one of them, Ludwig was met with a blast of frigid air. He slammed it shut immediately, eyes wide, but said nothing.

"That's the freezer, West. Other side."

Finally procuring the beer he desired, the blond collapsed heavily into a kitchen chair. The siblings lapsed into a relatively comfortable silence, each leisurely nursing his own drink.

Sensing the other's unrest, Gilbert sighed and asked, "You okay?"

"No, not really." Ludwig set the half empty bottle on the table with a low _clink_ and ran a hand through his hair, negating what little hold his hair product still offered. "I just…"

"What?"

"Was I wrong? Going to war, I mean." He focused his attention on a hangnail, digging his sturdy thumb into the painful split to distract himself from the conversation.

His brother said nothing for a long time, lips pressed together into a pale, narrow line. Then, taking in a deep breath, he shrugged. "Look, West, I know we kinda jumped down your throat today, but you've gotta realize something… Your boss, (here he hesitated, mouth puckered as though he wanted to say something but managed to restrain himself) Hitler, seemed really great early on. He dug us out of a shit economy, helped get the kids back on their feet, and told you that you could be proud of yourself again. Problem is, he turned out to be a total nutcase."

Blue eyes found scarred knuckles once more, absently tracing the painful reminders of past mistakes. "So I've heard."

"West, look at me." Gilbert wore the same solemn expression he did when he lectured his men or was alerted of a great military loss. Leaning forward to place a hand over Ludwig's, he forced the younger nation to meet his unwavering, crimson gaze. "You had a metric shitload of problems before he came to power. I know, I remember."

"My children… they were playing with the marks in the streets, _Bruder_." Voice hoarse, he struggled to break away from the albino's grip. "And everyone was hungry, but the inflation…"

"Thing is, we've moved on. All of us." Flopping back in his seat, the former kingdom kicked his heels up onto the table. "I mean, some people are still sore about what went down then, but we figured out that if you hold in a buncha hate and stuff, it just starts new wars. You've gotta let it go a bit, 'kay?"

Ludwig gnawed at his lower lip, mulling over his sibling's words.

"What happened after the war?"

It was Gilbert's turn to flinch away, eyes becoming shadowed and weary. "Lots of stuff, West. You're gonna have to be a lot more specific."

"To my children?"

"America came through and helped you get back on your feet." he almost smirked. "Made him feel like a hero, and got around the whole issue that basically started the war in the first place."

"And the land?"

"Roddy moved back out, and…"

The blond waited, hands clenched stiffly around his beer bottle.

"You land got split."

"How?"

His brother's tongue darted out to wet his lips slowly, almost painfully, before he seemed to gather the will to speak. "Through Berlin. We became West and East Germany."

"We?" Ludwig stared hard at his brother. "But you…"

"The Allies put me outta my misery in '47, but they didn't bury me deep enough or something 'cuz I ended up being East Germany."

"What was the purpose of the separation?"

"The commie bastard wanted to expand out west, and so after the war, he didn't wanna leave."

The younger Germanic swallowed only to have his breath lodge in his dry throat. "And which of us…?"

"You really asking?" His brother's tone was sharp, bitter, with an edge that hadn't been present before.

They fell silent again, the less-than-pleasant memories soiling the space between them.

"And Italy?" Ludwig asked, half whispering.

Tilting his head irritably, as though hurt that his own flesh and blood would be more concerned with the status of his relationship with the Mediterranian country than with their own, Gilbert shrugged. "You guys didn't talk for ages. Really. Then, some time pretty recently, you started hanging out again. Being friends and shit."

A moment of hesitation from the blond made the ex-nation reach over and smack him on the back.

"Lemme tell you, West, you've been happier in the last few decades than I've seen you in ages."

"B-because of Italy?"

"Get to bed, West." The albino waved him off, dismissing him like a child. "We'll talk more tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A quick historical note...

Friedrich the Great once passed a motion to keep coffee out of Prussia (mostly due to the fact that Prussia had no coffee-producing colonies and the heated debate concerning beer vs. coffee as the national drink). The public then revolted and overthrew that motion. Somehow it's my head canon that Gilbert still doesn't drink the stuff even though his brother is the largest consumer of coffee in Europe and the second largest consumer in the world.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

"_How is he, Prussia?"_

"He's fine. We talked a bit last night, y'know, about the war."

"_What'd he say?"_

"Wanted to know what you two were like after it."

"_Really?"_

"Yeah, really. Would I lie to you?"

"_Well… Prussia's never done that before…"_

"What'dya mean I've never done it _before?_ Everything I say to you it total gospel truth!"

"_I believe you, Prussia."_

It was good to hear Feliciano laughing that morning. The Germanic nation could feel his own mouth attempting to form a upward arc when the musical giggles resounded through the phone receiver. He'd been worried about the Italian since his negative encounter the day before. If there was one thing Gilbert knew about his little brother, it was that Ludwig would rather die than hurt Feliciano. Though he was unsure of whether it was carryover from when they'd been allies in war or if it was a different sort of protective instinct that had been awakened within the younger nation, the albino had learned to accept it as absolute truth. Therefore, it had taken him entirely by surprise when Ludwig had yelled at the Italian in the conference room.

Hearing footsteps on the upper level, Gilbert bid Feliciano a quick good-bye before positioning himself at the foot of the stairs. He counted down his sibling's progress to the bathroom – thirteen perfectly executed paces – then waited.

Moments later, the bathroom door opened again and the blond appeared at the top of the stairs.

"_Bruder?_"

The former country held his breath. "_Ja, _West?"

"How do you work the shower? It's… somewhat different than I remember."

He sighed. "I'll be up in a sec."

* * *

><p>"I'm going to Italy, <em>Bruder<em>." Ludwig announced when he had finally made it down to the breakfast table. "I feel that I should apologize for my behavior yesterday."

"Great." His brother plopped down a steaming coffee mug in front of him. "But eat some breakfast first."

"What do we have?"

"Whatever you find and make."

With a tired glance at the albino former nation, the German accepted the hot drink. "You still don't like it, do you?"

"Muddy water, West." Gilbert pulled a face. "'Sides, the old man wouldn't'a wanted me drinking it anyway."

"That was only because you lacked a colony that produced it."

"Beer's always gonna be number one to me, _Brüderlein._"

The blond smiled behind his coffee. Regardless of the passing of years, it seemed his brother was just as stubborn as ever. However, there was a broken look to the other Germanic that hadn't been present before – a hint of some defeat that had sent him buckling to his knees. Ludwig's lips fell back to their usual, stern position, made solemn by this heavy development.

"What're you gonna say to him?" Filling a bowl with cold cereal, the albino snuck a peek up at the other.

"To whom?"

"To Feli."

He struggled, setting aside the ceramic mug to sigh heavily. "Gilbert, am I in love with Italy?"

* * *

><p>"He found out, didn't he?" Lovino glared at his brother as he leaned heavily against the doorjamb.<p>

Feliciano didn't look up from his task, fingers gently kneading through the flour and eggs. "_Si,_ but I have a good feeling about today."

"Oh yeah? Why?" he grunted irritably. "Did he only kill a _few_ innocents today?"

The auburn-locked Italian's progress halted immediately, his shoulders stiffening noticeably as he turned to face the older nation. "Because I know Germany, _fratello._"

Lovino said nothing, silently noting the dark bags marring his brother's usually cheerful features. He had clearly slept poorly the night before and, perhaps, was not in the most pleasant of moods at the present. Instead, the southernmost portion of the country bit his tongue.

"Yes," the other murmured to himself, as though for reassurance. "I know Germany."

As though to relieve the building tensions in the room, the kitchen phone rang. Quickly ridding his hands of the pasta dough, Feliciano skipped over to retrieve it.

"_Ciao, Italia Veneziano._"

_"Hey, Feli, it's me._"

With a nervous side glance at his brother, the younger Italian began to toy with the phone cord. "Prussia? What is it? Is Germany alright?"

_"Oh yeah, he's fine. Couldn't work the shower for beans, but he'll make it. Hey, but anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads up."_

"Why?"

_"Well, he's on his way over, and I told him…"_

"What? You told him what?"

_"That you two… I mean, I told him about how you two're… together… like you are."_

"And?" Feliciano's heart pounded in his ears. "Tell me, Prussia, what did he say?"

_"He just went kind of quiet like. You know him. You can never tell if he's freaking out or if he's just thinking… but I think he was okay with it. He's coming over, anyway."_

"Yeah… I guess you're right." Sighing, the Italian forced himself to keep a cheerful tone. "Well, thanks anyway, Prussia."

_"You got it, kid. Hang in there, 'kay?"_

"I will."

"What's that about?" Lovino asked the moment his brother set the phone aside. "What'd he say?"

"Ah, just a few things that Germany's forgotten."

"Like human decency and how to bathe?"

"No!" He laughed, trying to lighten the situation. "Silly Lovino… though he _did _forget how to work the shower…"

"I'd say he forgot a long time before now."

"Germany doesn't smell _that _bad." Feliciano smiled gently, hugging his arms to his chest. "He's warm and kind and always protects me no matter what…"

His brother snorted. "Are you sure you're looking at the right nation?"

"Mm, he's coming over today, _fratello, _so you'll have to be nice when he-"

"I'm outta here."

As the older nation turned to leave, he was just able to hear his milder counterpart whisper, "_Grazie._"

* * *

><p>The dull roar of the jet's engine buzzed in Ludwig's ears as he stared out the tiny porthole in the side of the aircraft. Last he remembered, the planes had been much bulkier and noisier, and meant to shoot other planes out of the sky. This one, it seemed, was only meant to transport passengers from one location to another – from Berlin to Rome in his case. However, the scenery and the feeling he got peering down at the brown, green, blue planet below was the same exciting rush it had been in his own time. It was a sensation of being separated from the heavy prison of personifying a nation and, instead, being the equal of everyone up in the air, up where the Earth had no hold on him.<p>

Now he could think clearly about the situation Gilbert had presented to him: he, Ludwig, and Feliciano had been romantically involved for a few years now. Years. He just "couldn't remember" it.

He sighed, wondering how he was to handle this sort of development. His was an era of militancy tinged with xenophobia, where such relations between two men were frowned upon by the general public. Sighing, Ludwig rested his head against the window. The pain from his head wound was tolerable now, but still sharp enough to make him hiss his discomfort. Maybe if it healed, he could go back home… not that he had very much to look forward to, if the words of the other nations were correct. He would only be facing a long, painful war and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people who didn't deserve to die. Maybe living in this future era with a kind, Italian boyfriend would be better than returning to those desperate years of anticipated aggression.

Of course, this set him thinking all over again. Perhaps it wasn't so much that he had flown several years into the future, rather that he had simply been presented with some sort of extreme amnesia. He dismissed the idea immediately, sternly insisting that his life would not be turned into some half-baked soap opera. Memory loss indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the serious delay. I've finished this story, so the last chapter and epilogue will be coming out very soon!

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

When Ludwig arrived at Feliciano's house, he stood just beyond the door and, when Feliciano answered, he asked, "How would you greet me in this time?"

The Italian hadn't thought twice before throwing his slender arms around the other's neck and crashing their lips together. Surprising even himself, Ludwig responded almost reflexively by clasping his hands to the brunet's lower back and leaning down so as not to hinder their contact.

"I would not have thought myself to have become so… public with this sort of display," the German had panted the moment they separated, casting a quick glance around the street to ensure that no one had caught them in the act. His partner grinned sheepishly.

"Well, you would've probably waited until we were through the door, but y-you asked and I got all excited…" He blushed, looking extremely adorable.

Ludwig coughed, and his stomach twisted itself into pretzels. "I see."

"Well, come in then!" Pushing the door open further, Feliciano waved his arm in a welcoming arc. "I have dinner ready and… and even dessert, too!"

He stepped smartly through the doorway, turning to hang his jacket on the coat rack and to hide his disbelief. "So we really are… 'dating' in this era, _ja?_"

Toying restlessly with the ties on his apron, the Italian nodded. "It's… it's been a couple years now."

"Do I treat you well?" There was the hint of a waver in the taller nation's voice as he pointedly studied the wall in front of him. His gaze at that moment seemed so hard and brittle that it would take only a slight touch to shatter it completely. Feliciano quailed.

"Wh… what do you mean, Germany?"

"And I thought it was a simple question." Tired laughter colored the otherwise emotionally devoid words. Pale lips tightened before he forced himself to whirl and face his greatest fear, his greatest weakness. "Do I treat you well, Italy?"

"Yes. Always." His response came like a sigh of relief on his lips. "Germany is always kind and patient with me, and even if he's not good at, he tries to be romantic."

"And are you happy?" For some reason, Ludwig's voice sounded strained. It was then that Feliciano realized that he was shaking, fists clenched and shoulders squared.

"Germany…" Wide, amber pools bared themselves before him as the Italian struggled to comprehend the actions of his former ally. "What-?"

"I just want to know that you're happy… with me." The last words were tagged on like some undesirable detail withheld until just the last second. "Please, just answer the question."

Deciding to take a different course of action, the brunet hummed quietly to himself as he ventured back towards the kitchen. "Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Because of the… I mean, I don't…" He struggled to put his concerns into words. "The war and…"

Feliciano looked up at him earnestly. "Germany, the war's been over for a long time."

* * *

><p>The meal was full of awkward pauses and murmured "please" and "thank yous" as the two nations struggled vainly against the onset of the smothering silence that was waiting for just the right moment to settle into place. Even Feliciano with his naturally chatty demeanor found there was little to say to his best friend and lover in this strange, painful situation into which they'd been placed.<p>

"Germany?" he asked finally, watching wistfully as the blonde scraped his plate clean. "Do… do you still love me?"

Ludwig went rigid. Several minutes passed. Eyes lifting slowly to rest upon the Italian, he licked his lips, missing a small glob of sauce beyond the corner of his mouth, and said, "This isn't going to work."

"_Che?_" Feliciano felt his heart drop down through the floor, as though weighted by a thousand ton anvil. "W-what do you mean, Germany?"

"We cannot continue this… this _charade_ of pretending that I am h-homosexually attracted to you and that you don't notice the difference." Folding his hands before him, the nation pulled himself into his usual, ramrod-straight posture. "I am not the Germany you know. I read my journal, and I can tell that there is some sort of… chemistry between you and the me of this time, and – as your ally – I want you to be happy, but…"

He trailed off, thinking that it would be easier. One look at his former ally's face told him differently.

"You're right." Getting to his feet, Feliciano plastered a cold, imitation grin on his face and met the other's equally glacial eyes. "You're not the Germany I know – _my_ Germany is honest with himself."

"Italy…"

"Just go, Germany." The tears were already gathering on his lashes, preparing to pour out onto his smooth-shaven cheeks the moment he dropped his guard. "There's nothing you can say that can fix what you already have. Please, just go."

Ludwig's gaping mouth shut firmly, but he didn't move. He barely breathed until the Italian slammed his fist onto the wooden surface of the table with enough force to make the silverware rattle.

"Go!"

For the second time in two days, he left Feliciano's house with only stony silence ringing in his ears.

* * *

><p>"I told you, you idiot," Lovino murmured in a tone far gentler than usual. Tilting the green, glass bottle in his hands, he refilled his brother's wine glass (for what must have been the tenth time that night).<p>

"I can't love this Germany." Like the look in his honey-colored eyes, Feliciano's tone was flat, deflated, as he sipped away the turmoil his life had presented. "It's cruel, isn't it? They have the same face, but…" He hiccupped and lost his train of thought.

"Yeah, sure." It wasn't the time for him to berate the hateful German, to scream and yell and insist that the fucking potato-eater was probably just a passing fancy (and, perhaps, one that should have been renamed a passing "tacky" for lacking the prerequisites of the aforementioned title) and that his little brother was better off without him. Despite his burning hatred of the bastard, southernmost portion of Italy couldn't deny that something about Ludwig made Feliciano happy, and, as his older brother, Lovino wanted nothing quite so much as to see said sibling happy, but in these past few days, the only emotions he'd read on the little idiot's face had been worry, sorrow, and fear.

"Th-this is w-w-worse than b-before," Feliciano lamented suddenly, tears slipping down his alcohol-flushed face and off his chin as his shoulders jerked upwards to accommodate his sharp inhale. "They a-always have th-the same f-face, d-don't they?"

"Maybe you should stop falling for the blond-haired, blue-eyed Germans, stupid," his brother chided half-heartedly, patting him firmly on the back. Sighing, he murmured, "I'm sorry, Veneziano."

"I w-want Germany back…" With one last, quiet sob, the younger Italian buried his face in his arms and fell into a shallow, bitter slumber.

"You will," Lovino promised, feeling almost embarrassed of the tenderness with which he was regarding his brother at that moment. "I'll bring him back if I've gotta push the dumb bastard down ten flights of stairs myself."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'll have the epilogue up probably by tomorrow - I'm just putting the finishing touches to it!

I took the Valkyrie card concept from the movie (I couldn't find much confirmation of the existence of these devices anywhere else), but I did true research on the other mentioned concepts. The three men named were executed.

The emphasis in this chapter is on the total confusion Ludwig feels as his world seems to collapse.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

This time, Gilbert didn't ask how it had gone in Italy; he could read it all on Ludwig's stony face (and it read like an overly dramatized tabloid scandal).

"Something wrong, West?" he offered instead, pretending as though he was preoccupied with afternoon soap opera he'd been half-watching. "You weren't pickpocketed at the airport, were you?"

"_Nein._" He inhaled as though about to add something else, then thought better of it and began to climb the stairs to the upper level without another word.

Flipping on the light in his bedroom, he crossed to the full-length mirror on the far wall to stand before it. He looked no older than he had back in his own time (admittedly, nations didn't exactly age at the same rate as humans), but for a few worried wrinkles that had become just slightly more pronounced than before. He still had the same face, the same eyes, the same broad set to his shoulders that he had trained so long to achieve. However, as he stripped away his shirt, he began to notice the differences he had spotted briefly in the shower that morning.

There were scars, some deeper than others, that twisted and jabbed and discolored his flesh until his chest and back had become a map of injury. Worst of all were the old burns, stretching across large pinkish patches to distort what at one time had been smooth, pale skin. True, some he'd had from the First World War, and others from long forgotten eras before that, but those seemed to had faded slightly with time and forgiveness.

One of these in particular put Ludwig very ill at ease. Gnarled, white scar tissue cut clear across his left pectoral, splitting what would have been Berlin clear in half. He recalled Gilbert saying that part of the war reparations had involved the division of his capital, but he hadn't seriously considered it until he's seen the scar. His body had actually seen the war to the end… and beyond.

Not entirely wanting to believe, the German nation shook his head at his reflection only to catch sight of a small, yellow card hanging out of the mirror's frame. Above it was a small snapshot of Ludwig with his brother and Feliciano, all smiling (though, perhaps, not so much Ludwig as the other two) and standing in front of a building he didn't quite recognize.

Curious fingers plucked up the yellow slip, turning it over as Ludwig struggled to connect it to something, anything, but coming up short.

"Hey, West, you wanna go grab a drink in a few hours with me?" Gilbert popped his head into the room. "I mean, so long as you keep your head down and don't talk to anyone, I'm pretty sure we'll be okay."

"_Bruder, _what's this?" Ignoring the other's invitation, the blonde waved the card at him.

An interesting mixture of emotion flickered across his brother's face when he caught sight of the item, his crimson eyes widening slightly before narrowing in pleasure to accommodate his sneering lips.

"You kept yours, too?" he asked, a low chuckle bordering his speech. "That, West, is probably 'bout the only goddamn thing we did right back then."

"A card?"

"That was to prove you were part of the operation."

"What operation, _Bruder? _You're not making sense."

"Valkyrie."

"You don't mean the measures to be taken in the event of _der Fuhrer_- Adolf Hitler's death?"

"The very same," he replied with a nod. "Well, we made a few… minor changes, and tired a few things for ourselves…"

The pieces fell into place, and Ludwig's eyes bulged. "You assassinated him?"

"We tried… _Gott, _did we try." A cloud seemed to descended upon the albino as his earlier smirk faded in favor of an almost mournful expression. "We lost quite a few brave kids then, West, but they risked it all for you."

"For me? What do you mean?"

Gilbert pulled his cell phone from his pocket, toying with it as he had his officer's pistol so many decades ago. "They were shot for treason, West, when all they were trying to do was save you from that goddamned lunatic."

"To _save_ me?"

"Yes, to save you!" Phone clattering to the hardwood floor, the shorter of the two snatched up his brother by the shoulders instead. "Remember what I told you? Hitler was bad fucking news. He killed hundreds of thousands of people – even _your _people – for some bullshit cause that he glorified in all those damned patriotic speeches! You want to know people who really _did _something for you? Stauffenburg, Haefton, Olbricht… They gave you their blood. Hitler shot himself in the head when he knew we were all fucked. Some leader he was, the coward."

"Stop!" Ludwig shoved the former nation away with a little more force than he had originally intended. Then, catching himself, he snapped, "Stop lecturing me, Gilbert, I'm not a child anymore!"

Wheezing from when his back collided with the wall, the albino sat heavily on the floor. "You know I'm right, West. Quit lying to yourself."

Head pounding and heart racing, the blonde edged slowly from the room as though anticipating one last, desperate attack from his gasping brother. They'd talked about it before, about the destruction and mayhem sown by the mustached dictator and his skewed ideals, and Ludwig had understood to a degree. Now, he only felt irrational and confused. In his time, Hitler was being praised as the savior of the German people. It this time, Hitler was regarded as a hack and a monster. In his time, he was the ideal male. In this time, he was homosexual. Suddenly, all Ludwig wanted was some consistency. Surely something was still the same. If not the refrigerator/icebox, or his bedroom, or the shower, or the cars, or buildings, or his relationship with Feliciano, then to what could he turn to find that peace of mind?

"West, watch out!"

He had heard Gilbert's call a moment too late seeing as his foot had just hooked under the belly of the dozing Rottweiler who had decided to make the top of the staircase the location of his nap. Tilting dangerously far forward, Ludwig felt himself losing contact with the ground as Berlitz shifted in time to keep himself from tumbling down the stairs along with his master.

"West!"

"Berlitz!"

And, for a moment, all Ludwig could hear was the sound of a strangely familiar little girl's voice calling him back home.


	8. Epilogue

A/N: So this is it. I really hope you all enjoyed this - I'm not super pleased with how this whole thing came out (I feel like it was written roughly so that it doesn't flow as some of my stories have before), but I am rather fond of the end.

* * *

><p>Epilogue<p>

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ The sound was aggravating, wearing down Ludwig's last nerve until he became angry enough to wrench his heavy lids open and find whatever it was emitting the irritating noise.

"You're awake?"

Of the two Italian brothers he would have expected to find looming over him when he awoke, Lovino wouldn't have been the blonde's first choice. Had he put money on this wager, however, he would have lost spectacularly.

"W-what…?"

"What year is it, potato breath?" the Southerner growled, squinting in a manner he must've believed to be terribly intimidating (it wasn't).

Ludwig paused. "What year…?"

"Just answer the question, you fucking moron."

"2011, assuming I haven't been in a coma for more than a year."

"And what do you think of Adolf Hitler?"

The German sat up quickly, head spinning, and said as sternly as he could, "Unless you have a full education of the less proper German phrases, I'm certain you won't even understand."

The closest thing Ludwig had ever seen to a smile on the Italian's lips flickered there for a moment before he called over his shoulder, "Hey, Veneziano, it's safe to come in now!"

"Germany!" Bursting through the door with all the force of a stuntman launched from a cannon, Feliciano threw himself forward onto the German nation. "I missed you so much!"

"Why? Did I go somewhere?"

"Ah, don't you remember…?" Then, seeming to think better of it, he shook his head and pulled his lips together into a small grin. " mind, Germany."

"He's up?" A familiar head of white-blond poked into the room as Gilbert entered with a coke and a packet of some sort of potato chips in his hands. "And you guys didn't even bother telling me? Jesus."

"Hello to you, too, Gilbert."

The younger Italian pointed cheerfully to the albino nation, saying, "Prussia's been here with you for the last day and a half, Germany! When Lovino and I got here, we had to make him go get something to eat and use the bathroom!"

"He's exaggerating," the other Germanic grumbled, looking almost embarrassed. "Besides, what sort of big brother would I be if I brought you here and ditched you? Unawesome."

"Danke, _Bruder._" With a wrinkle of his nose, Ludwig wet his lips. "I feel as though I should be thanking you for a lot right now, but I can't… put my finger one it…"

"You oughtta be apologizing to Veneziano is what you should be doing, sausage breath," the darker-haired Mediterranean growled irritably. "The hell sort of brother would _I _be if I let you walk after being such a-"

Feliciano cut him off with a quick wave of his hand and a worried look on his face.

"Italy?" Raising a brow, the German glanced from face to face and found each clouded with some knowledge to which he wasn't quite privy.

"It's been a rough few days, West," Gilbert said finally, smirking almost painfully. "Let's keep it at that."

* * *

><p>Eventually Lovino and Gilbert had left, wanting to give their respective siblings a few moments to themselves.<p>

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Ludwig asked lazily, tired and now strongly suspecting he was on some sort of pain killer that was dulling his senses.

Feliciano shook his head. "It's in the past now, Germany. Just forget about it."

"I'm not sure I believe you." He sighed, shifting his weight and yawning. "But I'm sorry for whatever it was. I feel… ashamed and I don't even know why."

"I love you," the Italian said suddenly. Weaving his slender, graceful fingers with his lover's thick, clumsy ones, he felt a sense of perfect fulfillment he hadn't known for nearly a week. "You know?"

"_Ja,_ I know." As though he was moving through molasses, the blonde lifted their entangled hands to kiss the gently tanned back of Feliciano's. "She said that, too."

Expression twisting with hurt, the brunette pulled his hand away. "Who?"

"The girl in my dream." Ludwig's brow creased sharply as he struggled a slow, uphill battle against the medications that seemed to be so affecting his train of thought. "She was crying when she gave me her… her bloomers."

"Bloomers?" A nervous chuckle fell from the other's trembling lips as tears slid down his cheeks. "G-Germany has been remembering all sorts of strange things these last few days, _si?_"

"Remembering?" He gazed uncertainly up into twin amber pools, losing himself in them as he whispered, "I would forget it all to make room for new memories with you."

Again, Feliciano laughed, this time with honesty though the salty tracks still glistened down his face. "You're sappy on these pain drugs, Germany. I think I like it."

"Oh, do you?" Lifting his pale brows, the German smiled faintly. "Tell me, Italy, how would you greet me in this time?"

Seeing only love in the other's once-distant blue eyes, the brunette's heart wrenched one last time as he leaned forward and reminded him.


End file.
